


He Will Be Her Scream

by ladyoneill



Series: Lady O's Teen Wolf Bingo Stories [77]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bonding, F/M, Hospitalization, Permanent Injury, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1951038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Injured in battle, Lydia permanently loses her voice, but gains (or finally accepts) something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Will Be Her Scream

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hurt/Comfort bingo prompt: Loss of Voice. I'm trying to make these all more than ficlets (under 1K); this one barely made it as I realized that my plan to write one a weekend wasn't going to work with the deadline being December 31 and December always being crazy busy with writing. I'll be doubling up on a few weekends in order to get a blackout, lucky yous. ;)

What's the point of a banshee who can't scream?

When she opens her eyes, the lights in her hospital room are too bright, hurting her. Fumbling with the remote, she pushes the button for the nurse, but before anyone can come _he's_ up and dimming the lights, like he can read her mind.

Maybe he can.

This is the third time she's awakened. The first was to a dark room. The next to natural light from the bank of windows. This time to fluorescent bulbs. Has one day passed or many?

The first time she was only awake for a few minutes, long enough almost to panic from the tube down her throat, the rawness of pain in her whole body but centralized in her neck, but she saw him hovering in the doorway.

Darkness took her, took him from her.

The second time, she didn't panic, just waited silent until the doctor came to explain what happened to her. The axe to her neck, severing her larynx, just missing the carotid and only nicking the jugular. They were able to repair the latter, but her voice box...It was gone. Useless. Irreparable.

What's the point of a banshee who can't scream?

At least they took out the tracheal tube and replaced it with a nasal cannula. She can breathe on her own. Just can't talk or eat, though the doctor said she'll regain the latter use of her throat. 

The doctor told her she'd been in a medically induced coma for nine days.

As he explained what that meant--as if she wasn't a genius and already knew exactly what it meant and why they did it--her eyes flickered to the doorway where, again, he hovered, and his nod was reassuring.

Everyone was okay.

Somehow, she just knew.

This time, he takes the seat next to her, waves off the nurse when she comes in, though the woman insists on checking the status of various wires, tubes and machines monitoring her condition, before leaving again.

Carefully turning her head, Lydia looks at him and makes an imperious gesture with the hand not connected to the IV keeping her relatively pain free and hydrated.

Peter smirks at her and starts to talk.

"You were the only one injured. Well, Stiles earned several new bruises, but he does that walking across a room. With some amount of satisfaction, Derek took Kate's head clean off." He's happy about that.

Actually, Lydia is, too. The bitch deserved much worse, and hopefully Derek found some closure.

"Scott was...horrified, of course," Peter huffs in annoyance. "Choking on his self-righteousness while everyone else was just relieved. Until we saw you bleeding all over your pretty yellow dress." Sighing, he crosses his arms over his chest and sticks his feet beneath her bed, leaning back in the uncomfortable looking chair. "Stiles freaked out, but amazingly didn't panic. Whatever spark in him he's been ignoring came to life and kept you alive long enough for us to get you to the hospital. You went through two surgeries. We lost you on the table once." At that memory, he frowns, and then his voice softens. "They tried to repair your larynx, but it was too badly damaged. There's talk of providing you with an electrolarynx. You'd be able to talk, at least."

Yeah, what's the point of a banshee who can't scream?

It must show on her face because his becomes almost compassionate. "You are so much more than that, Lydia. You know that. And you may still be drawn to death. We'll have to see. Just because you won't be able to scream doesn't mean you can't use your fake voice to give us a phone call."

She shoots him a sour look, but...he's not wrong.

He's also inexplicably here, so she points at him and isn't surprised when he understands.

"Everyone has been here. Scott finally had to resort to physically dragging Stiles home every night for a few hours sleep. As always, his flailing was quite amusing. Your parents have barely left. They're in the cafeteria avoiding talking to each other at the moment." He grins at her scowl. "Pure coincidence that I've been here on each of your awakenings."

The look on her face must say 'bullshit' because he shrugs, gives her a self-deprecating look, then shrugs again. "What can I say, Lydia? There' s a bond between us."

Yeah. There is. One she's tried to ignore for months. Over the summer and the early fall, it was easy to ignore what he did to her, the dreams and nightmares and visions and...memories. The kisses and touches, all in her mind, but feeling so real. It helped that she went five months without seeing him.

Yet, ever since he slid his claws into the back of her neck, what's always lingered between them has been slowly returning to the fore. As fall turned to winter, Lydia found she could no longer distract herself with boys and sex, but she mostly managed to avoid Peter.

He's avoided her, too.

So...why...?

Slowly, as if he's afraid of her--of her rejecting him, she realizes--he reaches out and takes her free hand. His is large, warm, and yet oddly soft. No callouses will ever form on the pads of his fingers, the curve of his palm. Yet, there's strength there, and her own hand feels small and fragile enveloped by his, and...dammit, it feels good.

Lydia tries to make a face at him, but doesn't even bother trying to pull away. He'll let her, she knows he will, but she doesn't want to be free of him.

Maybe she never has.

Maybe it's because she simply can't.

Peter's thumb brushes over the back of her hand, sending a shiver through her, not of cold or even truly of desire, but...connection.

"I can't leave you alone any longer, Lydia," he murmurs before lifting her hand to his lips, and those are hot, burning her.

She tries to gasp, no sound emerging.

He gasps for her.

Their fingers tighten.

What's the point of a banshee who can't scream?

It doesn't matter. Peter will scream for her.

End


End file.
